the moon hung like ice in the sky
the shining, waxing sliver seeming
alternately to swallow or give birth
to its darkened fullness
hints of frost glinted in the grass
skeletons of trees shook
their bony winter arms
as the bitter, biting wind
wailed a dirge through their branches.
the world, dying, lay bare,
unshrouded, unshriven.
whence would come the light
to penetrate the night?
whence would come the balm
for the burial?
whence would come the life
that would put an end to strife?
who would come?
who would come
put our shadows all to flight?
Great post today thanks. I really enjoyed it very much.
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